“Not the whole thing,” Caesare clarified. “Just a ride.”
“Senhor…that is expensive.”
“It’s urgent.”
“Do you have money?” Lucas asked.
“No, I don’t,” Caesare replied. He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a key ring. “But how would you like a new Humvee?”
Lucas remained silent for a few long seconds. “I may know someone.”
“I thought you might.”
It took them less than thirty minutes to reach the old airfield. Completely dark, it looked like a skeleton of its former self. Unfortunately, even broad daylight wouldn’t have helped its appearance much.
Lucas drove his new Humvee up an open embankment to an old building. All four doors opened and they climbed out, hearing the sound immediately.
Soon after, they saw two bright flashing lights appear over the treetops, followed by the faint outline of a large helicopter. It approached and began to descend, finally bouncing down on the open grass in front of them.
Caesare was not the slightest bit surprised to see that it was a Brazilian Army chopper. Given the poor economy, someone was obviously moonlighting.
The side door on the gray helicopter slid open and a man dressed in the same color fatigues waved them forward.
Caesare hefted the heavy bag up on to his shoulder and turned to Juan. “You’re staying here.” He yelled over the noise of the rotors.
“Huh?!”
Caesare pulled Lucas in close so he could be heard. “Get him to the airport!” He pointed at Juan. “And put him on the first plane to Puerto Rico!”
Lucas nodded. “I will. Right away.”
Caesare gave Lucas a stern gaze. “If anything happens to him, I’m coming after you!”
“Yes, yes. No problem. You can trust me.”
He nodded at Lucas before turning to clap Juan on the shoulder. “Everything will be fine. Just get yourself home, alright?”
Juan nodded and hugged Caesare’s larger frame. “You’re going to find them, right?”
Caesare nodded with a cold stare. “Damn right, I am!”
51
At the first ray of light, the entire camp instantly awoke to Dexter screaming at the top of his tiny lungs. He rocked the cage frantically, throwing his small furry body against the inner metal bars over and over, nearly tipping it over.
DeeAnn was the first on her feet. For a moment, it almost looked as if the cage were being shaken angrily with Dexter simply trapped inside. But it was only Dexter, and he was completely unglued. Next to him, Dulce watched with wide eyes from within her own cage.
“Dulce, what’s wrong with him?” she asked. There was no response. She began to repeat her words when she caught herself. She wasn’t wearing the vest. “Damn it!” DeeAnn turned and ran back to her bag where the vest was carefully laid out on a large rock.
“What is it?” Alves cried. He was wobbling, trying to quickly get to his feet.
“I don’t know!” DeeAnn pulled the vest down onto her shoulders and clasped the side buckles together. She flipped the power button and looked to see if the blue light was on.
And then she noticed it. Following her frozen gaze, they all did. High above them, on the distant horizon beyond the mountain’s peak, they could see it billowing up into the sky like a dark blanket.
Smoke.
52
They were out of time. The sun was up and the smoke would now be visible from every direction. He had to get out.
Chao surveyed the damage. Everything was either burning or smoldering, for almost twenty acres in every direction. He and his men had used the rest of their extra gasoline supply to douse all the giant plants they hadn’t excavated and then torched them with the flamethrowers. Most of the fire was still raging and quickly spreading out to the other trees and plants. Before long, it would cover the entire area, all the way to the cliff’s face.
What they had found would never be shared. Their discovery would give China abilities far surpassing any other nation or people. They would not just be the next super power; they would be a super power like the world had never seen.
Of course, the Americans would figure it out soon. And they would no doubt arrive here too. But they would find nothing left to harvest. Only decimation. What the fire didn’t destroy, the 2,4,5-T that laced the gasoline would finish. It would soak into the root systems and kill every last strand. Something they had already tested.
Chao watched one of his men work with his flamethrower, still spreading the bright orange streams of death onto everything he touched. With any luck, the fire would continue far enough that the Americans wouldn’t be able to determine where it even began.
He turned to the truck. It had more than enough fuel to make it back down, especially now that the cargo hold was empty. None of his men noticed when Chao walked over and opened the driver’s side door, withdrawing the .45 caliber pistol from his bag. He pulled out a short black cylinder and screwed it onto the tip of the barrel. No one had ever gotten a close look at his gun and its threaded barrel. He double-checked his magazine and pulled the slide back, chambering the first round.
The flames were high enough that few of his men could see each other. And the smoke created a thick brown curtain all around them. The time had come.
This was where Chao’s gift really shined. Most executioners would at least suffer from a nervous trembling in their hands, but Chao felt nothing at all as he approached the nearest of his men. A sergeant who had served him well. A man of intense loyalty, both to Chao and to the Motherland. Young, idealistic, and the father of two young children.
He never saw Chao, who quietly walked up behind him, raised his gun, and pulled the trigger.
Seventeen more.
53
DeeAnn gripped the cages tight with her fingers, trying to keep them steady as the truck threw her from side to side. The road was little more than a worn path through the grass, with mounds and dips large enough even for her to see from the back.
“Hurry!” screamed Alves. He was sitting behind the driver, clutching the back of the seat. In the front passenger seat, Blanco sat gripping the overhead handle, trying to withstand the wild motion of the vehicle.
The driver had the pedal mashed to the floor, hitting every obstacle in the road at almost full speed. He was wrestling the steering wheel at the same time, trying to keep them from sliding down the embankment on Blanco’s side.
DeeAnn tried unsuccessfully to keep the cages from thrashing against the interior sides of the truck. The shaking was too hard. She, along with Dulce and Dexter, were all thrown back and forth together. Dexter’s shrieking had been replaced with a deep, guttural moaning, even as he crashed back and forth against the sides of his cage. Dulce was eerily silent. She was sopping wet and her eyes filled with fear.
DeeAnn couldn’t help but think that if the fire site really was their destination, then Alves may not need any of them at all anymore.
Suddenly the driver slammed on his brakes, causing everyone to tumble forward. The road had disappeared. He peered intently through the dirty windshield, searching.
“There, there!” yelled Blanco, pointing to the right. It was overgrown with wild grass but remained barely visible.
The driver drove forward slowly, cranking the wheel hard to the right. He inched the front tires up and over a group of small boulders before getting the truck back onto the path. From there, he slowed and climbed carefully.
As they passed a clearing, DeeAnn caught a glimpse up the mountain from the side window.
Dear god, she thought. We’re not even close!
On the other side of the same mountain, Chao was descending as rapidly as he could. With an empty truck and much better road, he was well past the halfway mark before DeeAnn’s group even laid eyes on the summit.
He turned through a tight corner then pressed hard on the gas pedal, opening it up before having to brake hard again for the next turn.
Ev
entually, Chao broke out from beneath the canopy of trees and could see the glimmering ocean far in the distance. He quickly followed the river and glanced the dull gray ship waiting patiently at the dock.
Chao couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. He’d made it and without any serious problems. A few of his men had turned around in time to see the gun, but it was too late. It was over. Everything had gone his way, and now they were shipping out. And in three short months, he would be wealthy beyond his wildest imagination.
The last hour was the easiest. The road was smoother and the hills at the base of the mountain provided a gentler decline. Chao gripped the wheel and pushed the accelerator down further.
Finally, he was close enough to see the crewmembers from his ship moving on the dock, waiting to cast off the gigantic lines holding the corvette in place.
Chao instinctively looked down and noticed the condition of his light gray jacket. He cursed and slowed the Typhoon. With one hand on the wheel, he snaked an arm out of the jacket, then switched and pulled the other arm free. He grabbed the garment and held it up before throwing it out the window. He returned both hands to the steering wheel and sped up again.
Better to arrive out of dress than in a jacket with blood spatter all over it.
54
A morning fog had settled further down the canyon, far beneath the camp. The extra moisture helped blanket some of the sound, but it also gave the large Brazilian helicopter an ominous image as it rose up, out of the mist.
As they breached the top into a clear blue morning sky, both helicopter pilots looked up through their windshield with wonder. There appeared to be an enormous fire at the top of the mountain, which was very rare given how green the area was.
They cleared the next plateau and spotted the small poachers’ camp. It appeared to be little more than a few shanty structures with old vehicles and no one visible on the ground. The one thing out of place was an enormous, multi-million dollar, white AgustaWestland helicopter resting idly in a nearby clearing. The copilot beckoned Caesare forward to the cockpit and pointed to the craft.
Caesare nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. He made a “down” signal with his fingers and rushed back to the fuselage to prepare the drop line.
The pilots came in low, circling the camp to look for an ideal spot. Behind them, the left side door slid open and Caesare stepped forward, wearing the thick nylon harness with the rope snaked through the rappel ring. Over one shoulder hung his M4 assault rifle.
He clung to the large steel handles on either side of the door as the chopper came around the south side and began to slow.
The aircraft finally stopped circling and fell another ten feet into a hover. The powerful force from the overhead blades flattened a giant circle of tall grass beneath them. Seeing no one below, Caesare dropped his black bag out and gave Lucas and his friend a friendly salute.
But just as he turned back toward the door, it happened. Alves’ two pilots burst from one of the structures carrying rifles. In a flash, they aimed at the chopper and opened fire.
Caesare jumped as bullets ricocheted off the thick armor around the door and the left side landing gear on which he was standing. He immediately fell back inside the protection of the fuselage when the pilots instinctively pitched hard away from the shooters.
“Get down! Get down!” Caesare yelled over the beating rotors. He lunged and grabbed the handle on the nearest seat while the airman next to him hit the floor. Lucas and his friend followed.
The chopper leaned hard and sped toward the edge of the plateau, where it disappeared.
In the cockpit, the pilots were yelling backward over their shoulders in Portuguese. Caesare didn’t know what the words meant, but he understood the general meaning: get the hell out! He quickly pulled himself back up into a sitting position by the door and searched himself for injuries. Nothing. Just a rip in the side of his pants. He was lucky.
The pilots continued downhill, dropping below a nearby tree line before leveling out again. The airman slapped Caesare on the back just before the Navy SEAL gripped the line and pushed out into the open.
The rope unraveled quickly, causing Caesare to drop faster than normal. Too fast. He hit the ground hard with his boots at an angle, pitching out and slamming sideways into the dried dirt.
Caesare groaned and immediately dropped his gun. Wasting no time, he rolled onto his back and began unclasping the harness. Within seconds, he was out. He threw it away from him and waved up at the helicopter. The line instantly rose back into the air as the helicopter pitched once more, heading further downhill and disappearing again into the fog.
He was on his own. Caesare sat up, probed his rib cage, and winced when he pressed on his bottom rib. It was cracked. Lucky again.
He twisted around, looking through the trees and back up the hill. He got down low and waited for a few minutes, but didn’t see anyone coming down. He quietly re-slung the M4. If those two were any good, they would be expecting him to round the base of the hill and come up from behind. And if they were ready for that, then they might be ready for him to come straight up instead. Or better yet, from one of their flanks, where the terrain was easier.
As it turned out, neither lackey was very good. When Caesare came up and over the top of the hill behind them, neither of the men were watching. Instead, they were both turned and looking down the front of the slope where they had last seen the helicopter. One was trying to dial someone on a phone while the other glanced nervously back and forth between the slope and his partner. The first man began cursing at the large phone in his hand. They were the pilots all right.
Caesare came up behind them smoothly, with the carbine pressed tight against his cheek. By the time they heard him, he was right on top of them. The pair froze at the sound of Caesare’s boots.
“How many?!” Caesare growled, in a low voice.
Both men peered at him without moving.
Caesare circled wide and stopped next to an old International pickup truck. Its fenders and doors had more rust than paint. He kept the barrel on the pilots and glanced around the camp. “How many others?”
Still no response. Christ. “Speak ENGLISH?”
The two men, both dressed in light colored khakis, looked at each other. When they turned back, one of them raised a hand and held his index finger and thumb just an inch apart.
“A little. Great,” Caesare mumbled sarcastically. “How many?” he asked again, sweeping his arm across the camp.
The pilot Caesare was talking to was shorter than the other, with hair barely an inch long. “No,” he said. He pointed back and forth between him and his partner as if to say just us.
Caesare motioned for them to get onto the ground, and they complied without hesitation. Both lay face down while Caesare checked inside the three rundown structures. They were so poorly constructed that Caesare wondered if someone had run out of nails. They probably would have been better off with tents.
He examined the second vehicle, an old style U.S. Jeep which clearly had seen better days. It looked to have been out of commission for years.
With his ears listening for anything behind him, he approached the pilots again as they lay still on the ground. He stood to the side where they could clearly see the carbine pointed at their heads. “Where?!” he yelled.
The shorter pilot looked up with a questioning look.
“I said where?! Where did they go?!”
The pilot pivoted his head. He then tilted it and pointed up at the mountain.
Caesare followed his finger toward the smoke. He studied the situation while his gun remained on the pilots.
“Alves?” he asked and pointed the same way.
The man on the ground nodded.
“How long ago?” After more silence, Caesare yelled again and pointed at his watch. “HOW LONG?!”
The pilot displayed four fingers.
Caesare stepped forward and picked up the phone that was dropped when the p
ilots both lowered themselves to the ground.
Four hours.
One by one, he tied the men to the old Jeep with one at each end, using a nylon line from his bag. When he finally stood up, neither man said a word. Almost half Caesare’s age, they simply glared at him from their positions in the dirt.
“You know I should have killed you both.”
Neither replied.
“Not even a thank you.” Caesare shook his head. “I weep for the future.”
He scanned the camp once more before running through the tall grass over to the AgustaWestland. He approached, pausing for a moment outside to admire the aircraft, and then reached up high and pulled the door open.
If he thought it was nice from the outside, he was stunned at the inside. “Good God,” he thought to himself and examined the ornate interior. The walls were decorated in a combination of soft white and lightly colored maple wood. The white leather seats gave it a noticeably elegant touch. But his eyes quickly fell to the open area on the left side where the carpet was matted down, leaving square-shaped impressions. Cages.
Caesare immediately turned and entered the cockpit. The instrument panel was as modern as he had ever seen. He dropped his bag on the copilot seat and slid into the other. After a short pause, he was startled when the leather seat began to slide forward for him.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He held his hands up until the seat finished its positioning, then dropped one hand onto the stick and felt it out. After scanning the rest of the panel, he reached out and powered up the electrical system. Lights all around the cockpit instantly illuminated and two large screens in front of him flickered to life. He leaned forward and inspected the fuel gauges.
“Just enough fuel to make it back,” he said aloud. A devilish grin began to spread across Caesare’s face.
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